Never enough time for restful slumber

I don’t know what to call the last seven days, but they just might be the death of me.

Technically, I can claim vacation for Monday through today, but applying the word vacation to these days is not just a stretch of the imagination, it’s flat out wrong.

Vacation means travel. The closest I’ve come to that is driving to another side of town. Twice. But it’s not one of those dubiously named “stay-cations,” either, because, whether your “cation” is “stay” or “vay,” it means some level of recreating is being done.